


Total Quality Management

by Ponderosa (ponderosa121)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1980s, Anal Sex, Attempt at Humor, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Business Trip, Cocaine, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Humor, M/M, Minor Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Miscommunication, Mistaken Identity, More Goofs than Sex, One Night Stands, Podfic Available, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 11:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20257447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa121/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: The guy who rocked up next to Crowley tapped a finger against the bar to signal the bartender. He was dressed impeccably in a white linen suit, white shirt, and lavender tie. A platinum Rolex flashed on his wrist. He threw Crowley a look when the bartender near the till didn’t drop what she was doing to head over immediately. “Can you believe this? The service in this place is a joke.”Crowley gave him another once over. He looked sorta familiar, but then again, with his combed back hair and toothy smile he looked like practically every other upper management wanker in the hotel. Crowley went back to his boozing. He should’ve gone for the correspondence course.tl;dr: That time in the early 80s when Crowley went to the States to do a blessing for Aziraphale and accidentally hooked up with his boss.





	Total Quality Management

**Author's Note:**

> Another one for the [Good Omens Kink Meme](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/) because I can't stop.
> 
> Hat tip to whoever prompted this: _Book!Crowley has such a great 80's yuppie vibe and TV!Crowley updates that so well... and you know Gabriel understands and implements the Six Sigma program. Maybe they crossed paths on Earth at a business conference in a hotel and ended up fucking like weasels on cocaine somehow?_
> 
> (Also this is maybe more M+? I'm bad at ratings. There's a lot more goofs than focusing on the banging though.)

“Whew. What a day. I had no idea this seminar was going to be so informative when I came down for it. My brain is buzzing.” The guy who rocked up next to Crowley tapped a finger against the bar to signal the bartender. He was dressed impeccably in a white linen suit, white shirt, and lavender tie. A platinum Rolex flashed on his wrist. He threw Crowley a look when the bartender near the till didn’t drop what she was doing to head over immediately. “Can you believe this? The service in this place is a joke.”

Crowley gave him another once over. He looked sorta familiar, but then again, with his combed back hair and toothy smile he looked like practically every other upper management wanker in the hotel. Crowley went back to his boozing. He should’ve gone for the correspondence course.

“I’d get a drink faster in Hell, lady,” he said, skimming the laminated drinks menu.

“Bout the same really,” Crowley mumbled into his glass.

The guy didn’t respond, he was too preoccupied with leaning halfway over the bar and whistling sharply to get the poor woman’s attention. He ordered a Dirty Banana extra whip and called her sweetheart. Because of course he did. He also probably had a morning Jazzercise class to attend.

Crowley sneered and hoped to Satan it wasn’t the same one he’d signed up for. His fingers tightened on his glass at the sudden screaming whirr of the blender. Fuelled by the bartender’s annoyance, it had a particularly sharp tone to it. If she could tolerate misogynistic jerks and that sound all night she’d make a fantastic torturer. Crowley made a mental note to tip her extra and keep an eye out in case her soul went downtown.

Eventually placated with his Dirty Banana in hand, the guy turned back to Crowley. He studied Crowley’s face thoughtfully, scooping a bit of the whipped cream off the top of the drink and sucking it off the pad of his finger. Crowley studied him right back, albeit more circumspectly.

“You look kinda familiar,” the guy said. His eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”

It was certainly possible; Crowley couldn’t rule it out. Business executives were always high on the list of easily corrupted souls Crowley could pad his figures with whenever he needed to actually report back. “We might have crossed paths before. I meet an awful lot of people in my line of work.”

“Tell me about it,” he replied with a commiserating nod. “Then again, I don’t even bother to learn the names of half the stuffed shirts I work with.”

Crowley chuckled quietly. He was loving this decade so far. On top of all the marvellous new technology, there was so much avarice, greed, and straight up low-level nastiness swirling about he rarely had to lift a finger. When the guy asked where he was based out of, he went with honesty for the sheer novelty of it: “Mostly I stick around London, but I had to come to the States to pull a miracle out of my arse as a favor for a colleague and figured why not stay a few extra days… Maybe learn a thing or two about increasing efficiency.

“You know the M25? Big motorway? Ten years on now, but they’re almost done with construction. I poured _loads_ of thought into the planning stages, but I feel like hardly anyone in the office even appreciated it. Probably never will…. Bastards can’t seem to think big picture.”

“I hear ya, buddy. The number of incoming units my division has to process on a daily basis has exploded, and all the analysts tell me it’s only going to get worse. Exponentially worse. If I don’t get things under control and fast, we’re going to be overwhelmed, and then it’ll be to Hell with all the overflow no matter what the Plan says. We just won’t have the capacity, for Heaven’s sake. 

“This is the first time I’ve gotten away from the office in probably a few thousand years,” he lamented. “Never a good time for getting away, am I right?”

Crowley pulled a face. He couldn’t argue with that. 

Mr. Dirty Banana finally took a long swallow of his drink straight from the glass. He came away with a frown and a creamy mustache. He licked it away and peered into the remainder of the glass disgusted. A heartbeat later he placed a hand to the flat of his stomach and burped softly. “That was not nearly as good as I thought it was going to be. What’re you having there, pal? Windex?”

“A Blue Lagoon,” Crowley said. He gave the tiny umbrella a flick and it twirled around cheerfully. He wasn’t convinced the box office success hadn’t in some way been his fault. “It’s not great.”

The break in the conversation held companionably as Dirty Banana scanned the room, evaluating everyone with a somewhat critical eye. He made subtle faces at the sea of brown and grey suits, less-subtle faces at the call girls trying to secure some work, and straight up scowled at a guy in a polo who he probably saw as a rival. Eventually his attention drew back to Crowley, which as the only truly interesting figure in the room, was understandable. The guy pushed the drink he’d given up on to sweat into its napkin at arm’s length.

He leaned in, voice dropped to a whisper. “Hey. Do you know where I can get something a little more…. What’s the word I’m looking for…?” He trailed off in thought, eyes narrowing before he snapped his fingers and pointed at Crowley. “Fun. I was thinking that while I was here I should try a few things, maybe a little candy. Might as well indulge while I’m temporarily off the leash, right, buddy?”

Crowley had come here post-miracle solely for the seminar. He wasn’t scheduled for a temptation, but no one else worth talking to was wandering in, and the guy was making it so damnably easy. Crowley was pretty sure he could make this a two-fer of drugs _and_ adultery. “I don’t even know your name, Mister…,” he said, and stretched out an arm for a handshake to flash his own Rolex. He’d left his favorite watch (a Seiko 0674 LC that for some devilish reason could print little messages out the side) back home in London.

Dirty Banana grabbed the nametag at the end of his lanyard and gave it a flickering tap. “Call me Gabe.”

“Short for Gabriel, I presume. Strong, Biblical name.”

Gabriel clasped his hand in the mandatory macho squeezing contest. “That’s the one.”

“Anthony. Pleasure to meet you. You know, I worked with a Gabriel once. He was kind of a dick,” Crowley took another sip of his drink, then twisted, elbow resting on the bar and his knees spreading a bit. Maybe a good hard temptation was exactly what he needed. A demonic intervention had stood in well enough for the miracle, but he’d had to follow it up with an honest to God _blessing_ and he could still feel it’s purity clinging to him like a sunburn waiting to peel. “You’re taller though. Better face too, while I’m being honest.”

“Guy like you must know that tall gets you some respect around here. You’re a beanpole, but I bet when you tell someone what to do they do it. And hey, if _I’m_ being honest, which I always am, this face…it did not come factory installed,” Gabriel confessed. He bit his lip and raised his eyebrows as if he’d just divulged a great secret. “A lot more paperwork than you’d expect for a simple upgrade, but it was worth it. Not so sure about the eyes yet, though.”

Crowley made an appreciative noise. He couldn’t even see the scars. That was one Hell of a plastic surgeon. Then again, most of them were. He pulled the umbrella out of his drink and sucked the toothpick clean, keenly aware that Gabriel was watching his mouth with rapt fascination. “So,” Crowley said, and subtly touched the side of his nose, “you’re looking for a bit of candy.”

“Yes. Do you have some?”

“I might. ...and I might be up for a bit of fun to go with it.” Crowley lewdly tongued the point of the toothpick.

“A screaming orgasm!” Gabriel shouted suddenly. He threw his head back and let loose a long, guttural groan. Behind the dark wall of his sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes widened as Gabriel’s palm smacked against the bar. _“That’s_ what I should’ve ordered!”

“Are you sure you haven’t had any candy already,” Crowley hedged. Would it even count as a temptation if Gabe here was already a few toots in and just looking for a fresh score?

Gabriel shrugged, and there wasn’t a whiff of a lie about him when he said: “No, never. Not even once. Is that hard to believe?”

“Well,” Crowley said, “at an event like this? It’s a little unusual.”

“You’re a bit unusual yourself, aren’t you? Sunglasses inside at night isn’t something normal humans do. Ohhh, I get it. Corey Hart fan.” Gabriel hummed a few bars and shook his head. “Catchy song, but all this Techno-Pop New Wave stuff, is… Ehh, not so great. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a big supporter of modern music, but when work is so demanding and I’m feeling bad, I just prefer a tune that’s more mellow and uplifting.”

Crowley suppressed a full-body shudder at the thought of smooth jazz and alto saxophones. He should’ve guessed. Well, at least Gabriel wasn’t half-bad to look at. He put a hand on Gabriel’s arm to get things moving along and forestall any deal breakers from coming out of the guy’s mouth. “What do you say we move this conversation somewhere more private.”

“Andy was it? That sounds like a fantastic idea. This place is a real fucking snoozefest.”

“Anthony.”

“I think I prefer Andrew. I'm gonna call you Andy.”

Crowley raised his evaluation of Gabriel from wanker to Grade A knob. “Another Biblical name,” Crowley remarked when Gabriel’s arm slung across his shoulders, and Gabriel gave him nodding approval as they exited the bar. Crowley rolled with it, choosing to keep it to himself that perhaps Gabe here wasn’t entirely clear on what Jesus had meant by “fishers of men.”

*

Inside the lift, Crowley casually took up a post in the corner and leaned against the railing while Gabriel pivoted and stood in the very center with his hands tucked in his pockets. The guy stared upward, watching the numbers count into double digits. Crowley gnawed on the inside of his cheek and tried to suss him out. Middle of the lift and not even making conversation was...a choice. Was he a power in the boardroom but not in the bedroom type?

The haircut wasn’t much of a clue. Very classic, a bit uptight. Wall Street maybe, or had to regularly rub elbows with Wall Street. Crowley tipped his head sideways to check his own reflection in the door. He smoothed a hand down his jaw. He wasn’t sure yet how the Simon Le Bon look was working for him, and he missed the mustache. Mostly because everytime Aziraphale saw it he’d call it a soup strainer and then find some excuse to take him out for noodles.

“So what kind of car do you drive?” Crowley asked casually. “BMW? Mercedes? A nine eleven?”

The twist of Gabriel’s face said Crowley had just asked an absurd question.

“Car service. Gotcha.” Definitely not a bottom then. Probably more of a watch himself fuck in the mirror type, Crowley guessed.

It was convenient then that the rooms had mirrored closets, mirrored chests of drawers, and a mirrored table that, once the door was latched, Crowley used to prop up his briefcase on. He popped the latches and pulled out a half-dozen dime bags, fanning them between his fingers with a grin.

“Say hello to the Candyman. Now are you ready to get this party started?”

“Hello, Candyman,” Gabriel said and grinned. “I am very ready.”

“How long are you in town for?” Crowley asked politely as he cut lines with a credit card that he’d stolen from some bloke in Hall C.

“Just through tomorrow. I gotta get back ASAP and get things moving. I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to even consider a Total Quality Management approach. I mean, quantify, analyze, make decisions based on hard data instead of _feelings_. For fuck’s sake our competition knows how we work because almost all of them started out in our ranks. We need to step it up. Big time.”

Corporate espionage, stealing trade secrets, poaching, Crowley had loads of ideas. “You could lure some key figures back,” he suggested, and pulled out a crisp tenner (also stolen) to roll. He did a line and offered the next to Gabriel.

Like any truly delicious temptation, there was hesitation. Crowley offered it again. “Come on, you said you wanted something fun, well here it is. Best nose candy money can buy.” (Technically Crowley had also stolen the cocaine, and the briefcase it’d been in, but he couldn’t very well go strolling around a business conference _without_ a briefcase.)

Gabriel gave in. He made a face not dissimilar to the first swallow of that foul cocktail, but a few rapidly increasing heartbeats and a sniffle later, his expression shifted. He nodded approvingly and went in immediately for another snort, and between the two of them they demolished the pile in record time.

Crowley took one for the team and flipped to the smooth jazz station on the radio. Before long, Gabriel was pacing, wild-eyed, his cuffs rolled back and tie discarded. The conversation had come back around from something something supply chain problems (Crowley honestly wasn’t listening much at this point) to poaching.

“Fuck them,” he was saying, pointing at the floor, like he thought just about everyone and everything was truly beneath him. “I don’t want those losers back in the ranks. I want them destroyed.”

Crowley lifted his head off his arm, and stretched a leg out along the sofa cushions. Idly he lifted his hand and Gabriel swung by for a bump off his knuckles.

“Being good isn’t the point. Being _nice_ isn’t the point. The boss’s son tried that and look where it got him.”

“Nepotism.” Crowley nodded. He lit himself a cigarette and checked his watch. Any minute now Gabriel would get the ranting out of his system and then the lust would take over. Once Crowley had pegged his type, it was like watching a play he’d seen a thousand times over.

“You’ve got to keep an eye on the end game. The market will fluctuate--of course it’s going to fluctuate--you can’t flood the world one minute and then expect things to bounce back right away,” Gabriel slammed back another bottle from the minibar and finished off Crowley’s last bag of airline peanuts. He spoke around the mouthful, hand coming up to catch the crumbs that tumbled down his chin and lick them off his palm. “You know what I’m saying. I _know_ you know what I’m saying. “

“Sure I do. There’s a stability to maintain, but the market by nature autocorrects,” Crowley said, throwing in a bit more jargon. He’d been watching all the Sunday shows. 

“Exactly. One day it’s going to crash—”

“Oh yes Hong Kong.” Crowley has had that one his calendar from the Dark Council for a while. He wondered if Aziraphale might want to come along in four years time for that job. They could catch some cinema, maybe an action flick or two. Those Hong Kong filmmakers sure knew how to mix romance and a laugh in with all the cool fights. The angel would love it. Or, at the least, reasonably tolerate it.

“Sure whatever. I’m talking catastrophic. That’s the point when we take out the competition for good. Gut them and wipe them straight out of existence.”

“Absolutely vicious. I like it,” Crowley said, still mostly thinking about hand-pulled noodles. Maybe he ought to regrow the mustache for a bit, aim for a little more Tom Selleck this time than Robert Redford. He didn’t quite have the legs for those shorts, though.

Gabriel flopped down suddenly on the other edge of the sofa. He was breathing hard. “I do this job for Her, you know. I miss Her. God….”

Oh no, any minute now he was going to get weepy. Crowley moved hastily to intervene. He hated it when people got weepy and leaked everywhere. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t _comfort_ them for Satan’s sake. He hastily slid into Gabriel’s lap, thighs straddling his. “Whoever you’re thinking about,” Crowley said. “Get her out of your head for one night.”

“I don’t think she even listens anymore.”

Crowley took hold of his face. “I’m listening.”

Gabriel had stopped talking, maybe because that lust was kicking in. Or maybe because Crowley was squeezing Gabriel’s cheeks between his palms hard enough he couldn’t move his jaw.

“I’ll take care of you, big man,” Crowley said, wagering that the classic haircut called for classic lines.

“How will you do that?” Gabriel asked, words mushed together until Crowley eased up on the face-squeezing.

“Just tell me what you want handsome. That’s all I need.”

“Do you...have anymore of those sweet nuts?”

Deflection with a hefty dose of projection? Really? Crowley bit back a groan. Why were humans so predictable half the time? “You ate every snack I had. The only sweet thing left devouring is me,” he said, picking up Gabriel’s hand and guiding it around him to the small of his back. He walked his fingers up Gabriel’s chest and loosened the next couple buttons on his shirt. “Might as well indulge, as you’d said, and get that screaming orgasm after all.”

Just like that first line of coke, there was hesitation written all over Gabriel’s face. It took a kiss and a wiggle to convince him. A little sucking on Gabriel’s bottom lip and a lascivious roll of Crowley’s hips and then they were in business.

“This is very new. Very strange,” Gabriel said, his hands clamped to Crowley’s ass and his pelvis grinding.

“Your first time with a man then,” Crowley said, figuring it be best to acknowledge the situation. Odds were that was half of the appeal.

“My very first.”

“Let me show you how it goes then, sweetheart. No one else outside this room will know unless you tell them,” Crowley promised. He shucked off his trousers and pants and undid his shirt starting from the bottom button until he was naked save for his sunglasses, his watch, and a single dangling earring. He turned his best smoldering look at Gabriel while sliding a hand down between them to free him from his trousers and give him a little tug.

Gabriel’s face contorted briefly before he well and truly got the message, and then he was all hands and all cock and spearing up into Crowley like a pro. He didn’t even seem to notice or care how slick and easy Crowley made it for him.

“This is amazing,” Gabriel said, standing up and bringing Crowley with him. The man was _strong_ and Crowley simply held on for the ride as Gabriel gave him an experimental bounce. “I could do this all night.”

“I’ve got nothing else on my calendar if you want to go balls to the wall,” Crowley gasped, and clung a bit tighter to Gabriel’s neck as Gabriel grabbed his hips and straight up worked him up and down on his dick like a porn star.

“The wall. Great idea,” Gabriel said and a few steps later Crowley’s back was pressed against the chill of a mirror and getting his brains fucked out.

It was a goddamned marathon montage of carnality. An epic, gonzo-worthy fuckfest. The coke kept Gabriel going for _hours_. If Crowley had been human he’d have had to tap out somewhere around being bent over the back of the sofa while Gabriel held his legs like a wheelbarrow. Or maybe when it’d been a good old-fashioned hands-and-knees rut on the carpet. Or somewhere abouts hanging off the edge of the bed with his throat crammed full.

It just went _on_. Crowley came twice just to get the edge off. He was about to hit number three, his back dragging against the sheets and hands clutching at the headboard as Gabriel rammed into him and--as anticipated--watched himself in the mirror that stretched alongside the bed.

“I never want to stop!” Gabriel said, bending Crowley near in two to watch his cock slide in and out of Crowley’s hole.

“We’ve got to at some point,” Crowley panted. This was unreal. He wasn’t complaining exactly, but-- “First presentation on DMAIC begins bright and early at seven and I’ll want to have a shower before it because I’m about to come again and this time it’s gonna be messy.”

He squirmed as Gabriel fucked him through another orgasm, come spattering all over his belly.

“I’ve gotta try that,” Gabriel said, letting Crowley’s legs knees fall open and smearing his hand through the mess streaked across Crowley’s skin.

“Hell yessss,” Crowley said, arching up and scooping up little fingerfuls of come to lick off his fingers. He’d been waiting for the money shot to seal the deal on the whole temptation. “Come on me. Come all over me.”

Gabriel pulled out, fisting his cock to aim right where Crowley’s belly was streaked white and shining. It was maybe the biggest damn comeshot Crowley had ever witnessed outside of a porno. When there was absolutely nothing left to wring from his cock, Gabriel let out a long, rumbling moan, and tumbled down to lay beside Crowley.

“That was unreal,” Crowley said, fishing for his cigarettes. He lit one up without bothering to find his lighter, and hissed in satisfaction. Finally that awful lingering blessing was fading away. “Seven hours we were at it. It doesn’t seem humanly possible.”

“It’s probably not,” Gabriel said with the sort of dazed sluggishness of a post-orgasmic haze. It didn’t strip the holier-than-thou from his voice as he scoffed: “It’s not as if I’m human. Gross. ...no offense.”

“Say again?” Crowley mumbled, newly-forgotten cigarette bouncing on his lip. 

“No offense. It’s not like it’s your fault you--” Gabriel sniffed at the air like someone in the room had let one rip. There was a mirror on the ceiling too (the sole mirror that hadn’t come with the room) and Gabriel’s gaze slid to Crowley’s reflection. “You smell evil.”

“Satan help me,” Crowley groaned. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You really are Gabriel. _Gabriel_ Gabriel. Archangel, Leader of the Heavenly Host and Messenger of God; Tootler of the Trumpet if all goes accordingly in the Great Plan.” 

There was a little furrow now between his brow. “Yeah, no shit. I told you that. Who the fuck are you, fiend?”

“Crowley.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Crawley.”

“Nope.”

Crowley removed the glasses. He widened his eyes and flicked his tongue out. “Used to be a sssserpent?”

Gabriel’s lips pressed into a line and he squinted. “Mmmmm….”

“Adam, Eve, the great big apple tree in the middle of the fucking Garden?” Six-thousand years hadn’t made Gabriel any less of a dick.

“Oh, I think I remember you. One of Lucifer’s friends, always sneaking off for a nap.”

Crowley sucked air in between his teeth and let out a little hiss. “Friend is a strong word.”

“Look, we can’t,” Gabriel said.

“No.”

“Not ever.”

“Never ever ever,” Crowley agreed. He’d just slept with Aziraphale’s boss for fuck’s sake.

“I think,” Gabriel said, and appeared at the end of the bed fully dressed and without a hair out of place, “that we both agree that this never happened, and that I am going to skip the seminar and Jazzercise class tomorrow because I’ve learned everything I needed to from this hellhole. I will return this disgusting body and see you again when the skies turn to blood.” He flashed a quick tight smile.

“Right. Never happened. Won’t speak of it.” Crowley blew a smoke ring towards him that morphed into a smiley face with its mouth zippered shut.

Gabriel waved his hand through it to dissipate it. “See that you don’t, Crony,” Gabriel popped out of existence, then popped back in again a half-second later. He clasped his hands together and smiled as he said: “Oh, but say hi to Lucifer for me. I’m looking forward to whenever it is that he finally starts a family.”

“Go to Heaven.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Total Quality Management by Ponderosa (ponderosa121)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20562023) by [CompassRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompassRose/pseuds/CompassRose)


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